


Falling For Forever

by jutri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Is A Supernatural, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Dear Evan Hansen References, Fluff, Kitsune Stiles Stilinski, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Scott is a Bad Friend, Smut, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jutri/pseuds/jutri
Summary: Stiles reflects on how this was now his life. Smoking weed underneath the lacrosse bleachers and talking about his shitty life, with Rayna, the youngest heiress of the Hale household. His mind kind of wants to blame Scott, his on-again-off-again best friend, for his current companionship. However, he can’t bring himself to blame Scott for wanting a better friend and jumping the fence to the popular side. Because if he thinks about it, it was only a matter of time before Scott left him. Everyone else did.





	1. Dear Stiles Stilinski

**Author's Note:**

> So this is loosely based off of the musical Dear Evan Hansen. I say loosely, because it doesn't follow the plot to a T, but it does have the same concepts. Given that, if you are uncomfortable with depression, mentions of suicide and mentioning of panic attacks, please find a different fic to read.

_Dear Stiles Stilinski,_

_Turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing day or an amazing week, because why would it be? Despite what your therapist says your life isn’t a story waiting for you to write it._

 

_In life, there are no chapters. You have no book to read, no story that shows much of a purpose. You have the ups and downs of life, yes, but when was there ever a book to read about you? There is no book dedicated to you. There is no book about your life story. If someone wants to know about it, they should stick by your side and ride along with you. My mom taught me this._

 

_My mom is dead; where is her book? Where is that happy ending everyone was looking forward to? If her life started with, "In a land far, far away grew a beautiful baby girl," where was her happily ever after? It wasn't there. It was never to be there either. So why in the hell would there be a book for our lives when they don't end the right way or the way they're supposed to?_

 

The document on his laptop stares at him mockingly as he attempts to finish the letter of the day, by orders from his therapist. Deleting everything besides his name, he sighs. Stiles blinks blearily at the purple smoke floating around them and shut the screen.

 

The bell for the sixth period rang only a few seconds ago, leaving the hollow underneath the bleachers to echo. It’s his lunch period, but since he didn’t have a lunch or any money, he didn’t see a point in going. His mind idly wanders to the thought of Mrs. McCall’s homemade cookies, and wonders if she packed a few for her son, causing his stomach to whine pitifully. Looking down at his backpack, Stiles huffs at the thought of the probably melted chocolate bar in the front pocket. Letting a jaw-cracking yawn rip from his chest, the teenager softly itches the side of his face as he turns to look at Rayna.

 

Rayna Hale. The resident outcast who was cruelly voted most like to go feral by her classmates. Stiles remembers the day when he first heard that rumor. He remembers staying out till midnight with Reyna and having to talk her down from the edge regularly. That happened the beginning of sophomore year. Two years ago.

 

Stiles stares at her with no real thoughts coming to the surface. He feels like maybe it was creepy to stare at her, but at this point, they were both too high even to care. Stiles reflects on how this was now his life. Smoking weed underneath the lacrosse bleachers and talking about his shitty life, with Rayna, the youngest heiress of the Hale household. His mind kind of wants to blame Scott, his on-again-off-again best friend, for his current companionship. However, he can’t bring himself to blame Scott for wanting a better friend and jumping the fence to the popular side. Because if he thinks about it, it was only a matter of time before Scott left him. Everyone else did.

 

“I still think its super freaky,” Rayna says, her eyes fixed on Stiles’ whole arm. “It was legit broken last night. You sent a pic and everything.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and levels a flat look towards her direction. “You’re a werewolf. You legit have healing capabilities. How is it so hard to grasp the fact that another supernatural could do the same?”

 

“You had three bones sticking out of your arm,” she squinted, “even a werewolf would still be licking its wounds. I swear your kitsune bullshit is bullshit.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth before closing it because…that’s fair. Plucking the blunt from Rayna’s fingers, he slowly inhaled before exhaling with a small cough. Wrinkling his nose, Stiles takes a few more drags before handing it back to the werewolf.

 

Hearing the gym class exit from the school and onto the filled, Stiles rests his head against a beam as he watches the students start their laps. His eyes find the other Hales almost instantly. The other three siblings stretch a few feet away from the rest of the class. Cora, Derek, and Laura. The most respected, smartest, and most ambitious alpha’s in the school. Stiles always wonders what it would be like to be in their shoes. Rayna always assures him that their lives weren’t as perfect as it seemed, but he still can’t stop himself from dreaming. Stiles eyes trail the expanse of Derek Hales’ biceps and back muscles and could practically feel his cheeks heating up.

 

In his moment of distraction, he could feel his trick of scent and sight slipping from his concentration. As the illusion fell, Stiles has a brief moment of panic as a few were’s caught a whiff of the wolfsbane laced substance. Quickly placing his hands on Rayna and the weed, Stiles focuses his energy once again to put the illusion back in place. When their scents were once again hidden, Stiles relaxes as he tentatively turns back towards the field. Startling as Derek’s eyes looked directly at him without actually seeing him, Stiles felt his heart rise to his throat as the alpha sniffs once, then twice, before giving his attention back to Coach.

 

Chancing a glance towards Rayna, Stiles smiles sheepishly as the girl looks at him and raises an eyebrow that simultaneously conveys the emotions of annoyance and amusement. All Stiles could do is think of how happy he was that the illusion also blocks his heartbeat and scent from everyone _including_ Rayna. They might be kind of close, as in they smoke together sometimes, but Stiles is sure that didn’t mean it would be cool for him to thirst after Rayna’s brother openly.

 

“You know what I don’t get?” She says, her oversized yellow jacket falling from her shoulders.

 

Humming to let Rayna know she has his attention, Stiles tilts his head to stare up at the gum covered metal.

 

“You’re like a kitsune, right?” Rayna held a finger up as if to represent Stiles. “You’re like a rarity and…and all these assholes treat you like shit! Like that’s—it’s fucking wild man.” She stares blankly at the blunt in her hand for a few seconds before smashing it to the ground. “Like I understand the people who are, like, scared of you or some shit. However, for the asses who try to bully you, it just makes zero sense.”

 

 

Stiles shrugs, “They know I’m an easy target.” He thinks about it for a few seconds before turning to look at her, “If I defend myself they’ll say I’m lashing out. If I lash out, it goes on my record. If it goes on my record—”

 

“—no college,” she finishes.

 

Stiles nods sagely, “and then the only job that will willingly take me without a college degree will be the military, where they’ll use my ‘natural state of destruction’ as a weapon, or some shit.”

 

Rayna’s brows furrow slightly as a sliver of sympathy passes across her features before it vanishes, “that sucks.”

 

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

 

The sixth period ends sooner rather than later, and Stiles was bummed about it. Mainly because it meant he had to go to his biology class with Mr. Harris, who Stiles believed hated him. Despite that, it also meant that Stiles had to sit in the back of the class while Scott and his new friends shot mocking glances towards his direction. Saying his goodbye to Rayna, he heads in the opposite direction of the werewolf. As the distance between them grew wider, Stiles felt an itching darkness claw at his insides. Frowning at the slightly familiar feeling, Stiles fidgets with the hem of his navel length shirt. Stopping in his tracks, Stiles looks over his shoulder to see Reyna no longer in sight. Standing there for another few seconds, Stiles snaps out of his thoughts when the warning bell attacks his eardrums.

 

Sighing, he drags his feet towards room A108.

Getting to the classroom, Stiles avoids all eye contact as he hunches his way towards his seat. Dropping his bag in the place next to him, Stiles slouches in the chair as he picks at the chipped black on his nails. Hearing the insistent titters from the popular section of the class Stiles grits his teeth as he hears his name come from Jackson Whittemore. Forcing himself not to spare the jock the time of day, Stiles instead focuses outside the window to the rapidly darkening clouds. If it weren’t for the fact that Stiles knew he couldn’t control the weather, he would have sworn the heavy clouds had something to do with his emotions.

 

“Angelica,” Harris’ nasally voice fills the room as he calls attendance.

 

“Here!”

 

“Jason Dean.”

 

“Salutations,” JD says lazily next to his girlfriend.

 

Harris squints at the list before a nasty sneer morphs his crooked nose. The adult chimera glances around the room before his eyes find Stiles’. “Well, shouldn’t we be honored. The wonderful Mr. Stilinski decided to grace us with his presence.”

 

Clenching and unclenching his fists, Stiles plasters a sickeningly sweet smile on his face, “What can I say? I’m just full of surprises, Harry.”

 

Harris’ mouth twists as if he were sucking on a lemon. The man looks close to going off but ceased fire as his tourney shifts towards the girl in green who struts in a few minutes late.

 

As class starts, Stiles fidgets relentlessly with his nails as the itching feeling seems to grow stronger. The class was nearly over when his picking caused his skin the break and a drop of blood to drip to the table. Hissing, Stiles stares at the small cut and felt a chilling sense of adrenaline as the cut stays on his finger all until the class ended. Only then did the skin stitch itself back together until he was back to new. Stiles thinks back to the weed, and wonders if the cut would have stayed even longer if he would have gotten just a little bit higher.

 

The dismissal bell shrilled through the speaker causing everyone in the small room to jump from their seats. Stiles slings his bag over his shoulder and heads towards the door and stops mid-step when Scott came bounding in front of him.

 

“Hi, dude!” Scott says with wide eyes and a faint smile, “your dad said you broke your arm the other day.”

 

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets. Of course, his dad told Scott’s family about the accident. He opens his mouth to ask why Scott cares but quickly closes it with a click. Instead of most likely ruining whatever little exchange Scott wants to have with him, Stiles nods.

 

“Oh,” Scott’s eyes lit up as he openly stares at Stiles’ arm. “That’s great! I mean, not that you broke your arm, but the fact that it’s already healed, and all. I know you’re a… _void_ ,” he says the word as if it were a sin, “and that healing works faster for you, so you must have been relieved when it wasn’t broken anymore.”

 

Looking towards the clock, Stiles shifts his weight to lean against the lab counter. He’d never liked small talk.

 

“Well…” Scott continues with a slight waver in his voice, “my mom wanted me to invite you to dinner tonight. She knows your dad is working the next few weeks of night shifts, so she wants to do something nice.”

 

Feeling something shift in his chest, the corner of his mouth twitches upwards at the thought of a family meal. His mind thinks about those cookies again, and _damn_. “That would be gre—”

 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know you’re probably busy or something with learning how to control your emotions and stuff. Lydia told me that you nearly took off a dudes head this morning for bumping into you,” Scott says. The look of disappointment that takes over Scott’s face almost makes Stiles hate himself even more.

 

Stiles’ smile drops at those words. This morning an asshole tripped him to the ground, and then nearly wet himself when Stiles accidentally let a bit of dark aura cloak his body.

 

“I’ll just tell her you’ll come another time!” Scott chirped as if he was doing Stiles a favor.

 

Before Stiles could reply, Scott was scurrying off to catch up with his girlfriend and his new friends. Stiles’ eyes watch as they retreat and couldn’t help but to stare at Scott’s girlfriend, Kira Yukimura, the thunder kitsune.

 

Kira Yukimura who everyone adored and wanted to be friends with. The golden girl of Beacon High who wasn’t seen as a monster or a freak. The fucking student body president who isn’t a rare beast, and lucky enough to be able to pass as ordinary. Stiles wants to hate her, he does, but despite his anger, he knows Kira is a good person. Which makes him want to hate her even more, which makes him hate himself.

 

Storming out of the class, Stiles narrowly misses knocking some freshmen over as he heads towards the parking lot. He’s halfway to his Jeep when he hears it.

 

“Stop laughing at me! I’m not the freak, you are! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Rayna shouts, her eyes glowing crimson as she violently shakes in her beta form.

 

Silence.

 

Behind the furious girl stands her brother and sisters who look irritated. One would think they were annoyed with the person bothering their youngest, but instead, their glares and impatient sighs were directed solely towards Rayna.

 

Rayna whirls around towards her family and stumbles backward at their judgmental stares. Her eyes glance at them and Laura’s car before her eyes search the crowd. When her eyes find Stiles’, she shouts a few last swears at the gawking crowd before making her way over to him.

 

“Let's go,” she snaps.

 

Stiles shrugs as he follows her the rest of the way to Roscoe. Opening the door, Stiles spares one last glance towards the crowd and closes the door on Cora’s shouts of anger for her sister’s return.


	2. Sincerely, Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…umm, I know I want to go to college after this. After high school. But I’m thinking of taking a year off. I want to…I need to find myself or something, and I think traveling could do the trick,” he says softly. 
> 
> Rayna gives him that look again. That look where she’s trying to figure out what kind of paradox inside of a metaphor that’s trapped inside a simile Stiles represents. “Where would you go?”
> 
> “Probably Utah.”
> 
> She takes another drag, “why there of all places?”
> 
> “Because who the fuck goes to Utah?...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Read with consideration of the tags!!!! Contains some heavy shit in this chapter.

Stiles watches as Rayna aggressively chews at her straw to her strawberry milkshake. They've been set at Pop’s Dinner for the past six hours after their escape from the school’s parking lot, and Stiles is glad for the moment of silence. In that time he’s finished his homework and written his therapy letter to himself. After printing it on Pop’s printer, he even let Rayna read it, and they laugh together as she suggests he become the next Poe. 

 

Dipping a curly fry into his chocolate shake Stiles turns towards the downpour outside. For the past six hours, they've talked for maybe a quarter of the time. Neither of them has the energy to speak, and even if they did, they probably wouldn't anyway. Their acquaintanceship thrives on the fact that they can sit in silence without the other getting uncomfortable. Its a sort of chilling feeling that surrounds them. A type of sensation where you feel entirely alone when you’re not. When he first experienced the excitement, he thought it to be nerve wrecking. Now, however, it’s one of the best feelings in the world. Listening to Rayna’s constant tapping on her phone Stiles ignores his own as it vibrates in his pocket. He didn’t have the be a genius to figure out who it could be. It wasn’t Rayna, given that she sat a couple of feet in front of him. Scott had already done his good deed of the day by talking to him, so it wasn’t him. The only other person that would contact Stiles, and that has his number, is his dad. Call him a bad son, but he didn’t have the patience to be yelled at.

 

“If you’re not gonna answer it, turn it off,” Rayan grumbles as she lets the straw drop to the table. Strawberry goo and whipped cream dripping from the end of the ruined plastic, as she unwraps a new straw to use.

 

“I like to guess how long he’ll pretend to care,” Stiles says, false humor in his voice. “So far he’s made three calls and left one text. No voicemails and I bet any money that the text is only two words long.”

 

Pursing her lips, Rayna looks at Stiles as if he were a puzzle.

 

“I’m guessing he’ll send one more text threatening to ground me before giving up.” Resting his phone in the space in front of them, they both stare at the phone expectantly. Three, seven, fifteen minutes pass, and nothing else came. “Damn. I gave him more credit than he deserves.”

 

Rayna slouches back into the booth with her arms crossed, “Wellif that’s not the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” she breathes out, “Jesus Christ…welcome to the shitty dad club I guess.”

 

“Thanks,” he says dryly. “It’s an honor to be considered for such an esteemed organization.”

 

“I still have to talk it over with a few people to make it official, but don’t worry. I know a guy.”

 

They stare at one another blankly before small almost invisible smiles spread across their faces. Stiles leans against the table with an empty sigh as he finishes off the last bit of his shake. His fries have gone cold, and that fact alone makes him want to cry. Pushing them to the side, Stiles checks the time. Ten minutes till closing. They should be heading out soon. Opening his mouth to suggest a change in the venue he stops as Rayna’s phone goes off. The werewolf stares at the device void of emotion as the word ‘DAD’ shows on the top. Answering the call, she wraps an arm around her middle as she faces the window. Stiles didn’t even need super hearing to be able to hear the yelling coming from the other side. As the yelling continues, Stiles watches almost amazed as Rayna progressively shrinks in on herself while simultaneously pulling off a face of defiance. The heated argument starts hushed all until it isn’t anymore. It ends with Rayna holding back tears of anger— _and maybe sadness_ —as she slams the phone onto the table, breaking it on impact.

 

She’s furious. Standing from the table, Stiles slings his bag onto his shoulder as he heads to the front to order another large curly fry and two strawberry shakes to go. It takes the cashier only a few minutes to put the order in and give it to him before Stiles is out the door. He waits in his car for probably twenty minutes before Rayna joins him slamming the door behind her. Rayna takes the second shake and immediately starts chewing on the straw. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and Stiles notices rather late that she is stuck in her beta form again. He wonders if Rayna even notices.

 

“Lets go to the orchard,” she says.

 

“It’s raining.”

 

“We won’t get out,” her knee shakes as her foot taps against the Jeep’s floor. “I just want to go there and get high.”

 

“What’s the point in going there if we aren’t even getting—”

 

“—Oh my God, just shut the fuck up!” Rayna explodes. Her breathing heavy as she hits the dashboard. “If I wanted to be treated and questioned like a child I would have stayed on the phone with my father!”

 

Stiles anxiously taps against the steering wheel as his fox feeds off of Rayna’s negative energy. His magic tosses and turns in his core as he struggles with what to do. Luckily for both of them, it figures itself out on its own.

 

“I’m—I’ll pay to fix the dent,” Rayna mumbles almost inaudible.

 

Just now noticing the colossal dent where Rayna’s fist made contact with, Stiles blinks shocked at the damage. “It’s fine,” he says as he reaches and rubs his fingers against the dent, using his magic to transform it back to normal. “…Lets go to the orchard.”

 

Rayna didn’t respond as she puts the shake back into the drink holder and curls in on herself.

 

Water droplets hit the car windows as they drive onwards. The skies are overhung with a blanket of grey, so much so that Stiles can barely tell the difference between the sky and clouds. Despite car rides feeling tedious, the rain commonly calms him— he watches raindrops race down the windshield. The occasional wave of a puddle hits the car, but he'd rather be outside in those puddles than in the house alone. He eventually parks on the side of the road that was just a few yards away from the orchard’s opening. The orchard is breathtaking. An opened field that’s framed with trees of all shapes and sizes, and colorful leaves to match. Even the rain couldn’t seem to dampen its beauty.

 

Settling their seats back, Stiles closes his eyes as Rayna digs through her bag for the stash. She gets it rolled and lit with practiced ease as she cracks the back windows open. As she starts off, Stiles lays back, feet twitching to music only he can hear, face as passive as it would be in slumber.

 

Opening his eyes, Stiles scans Rayna’s face for any emotion, the silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. He expects her to lash out, wail or dissolve into tears, but she did none of those things. Instead, she inhales wolfsbane at an alarming rate before exhaling in thick clouds of purple.

 

“I hate them,” she says.

 

Stiles’ expression remains neutral as to not set the girl off again. His therapist told him that venting is therapeutic, and he’s guessing that Rayna can benefit from the therapy technique.

 

“I know they hate me. They all look at me like they do,” she sniffs as she inhales too quick making herself choke. When she regains her composure she continues, “Did you see them today? That asshole was being a dick, and they didn’t even care! None of my family cares.”

 

Holding his hand up for the blunt Stiles waits patiently for her to hand it to him. Rayna keeps it for a few more seconds before giving it to him. “What about your mom? You said she was trying.”

 

Scoffing, Rayna leans her head against the window. “Yeah, like when she tried being vegan, or when she tried yoga. Or the time before when she tried a different religion.”

 

When she turns at last to face him, there was no trace of tears, not in her eyes or in track marks on her reddening face. Rayna’s eyes are narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. At that moment Stiles knew she was already far away. Past the point of reasoning, at least for tonight.

 

“None of them want me there. My dad just told me not to even bother coming home until I apologize for embarrassing the family in public,” she laughs, the sound sending chills down Stiles’ spine. “They couldn’t give less of a damn about me, and a _hate_ them! Do you know how many times I’ve asked for help? I’ve been begging for it for months now, and my dad thinks its just a waste of time and money. Can you believe that? The man who spends a fortune on neckties and flashy cars can’t give money to his daughter for therapy. He even said I was only asking for attention,” a tear fell this time. “Fucking asshole…”

 

Words left him. Stiles stares into those bright blue eyes burning with anger, and his heart fell silent. He isn’t very good at comforting people. In fact, he’s probably the worst, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

 

“I…umm, I know I want to go to college after this. After high school. But I’m thinking of taking a year off. I want to…I need to find myself or something, and I think traveling could do the trick,” he says softly.

 

Rayna gives him that look again. That look where she’s trying to figure out what kind of paradox inside of a metaphor that’s trapped inside a simile Stiles represents. “Where would you go?”

 

“Probably Utah.”

 

She takes another drag, “why there of all places?”

 

“Because who the fuck goes to Utah? There could be spaceships, and a whole Stranger Things vibe going on about the place, and no one would know because everyone thinks it’s such a boring place!” Stiles flails his arms and lets them drop as the rain picks up.

 

“I doubt there are spaceships in Utah,” Rayna sniffs again as she rolls the windows up.

 

“How would you know? You’ve never been,” Stiles points out.

 

“Because everyone knows the spaceships are in Kansas. Dorthy didn’t get to the Emerald City all on her own.”

 

“I thought she got swept up by a tornado?”

 

“Nah,” Rayna finishes the blunt and makes a new one. “It was totally aliens.”

 

Stiles laughs distractedly as he starts to feel his senses go a bit numb. Gorging on shakes and fries, they both embrace the refreshing moment of calm. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Stiles honest to God giggles as he didn’t even feel the pads of his fingers touch his palms. In his own state of wonderment, he starts to forget about his dad. He blocks out the pain he felt when Scott took away the family meal and doesn’t even blink at the fact that his phone has yet to ring again. Instead, he tilts his head back on to the headrest. The stars in the sky were nonexistent, as between them arose puffs of gray. Those balls of cotton seen during the day shift into streams of gray the color of ash and soot. They blanket the sky, hiding the moon in its glory behind them. But the moon fought, oh how it fought to shine its light on the earth. But the clouds stretch over the sky, giving it a dark ominous feel.

 

“You should go home,” Rayna says from out of the blue.

 

“What?”

 

“I want to take a walk,” she says unlocking the door and stepping into the rain. Her hair and shoulders immediately became soaked as her inky black hair stuck to her yellow raincoat.

 

“But it’s—” Stiles closes his mouth at the hard look Rayna gives him. Nodding his head, Stiles brings his seat back up and uses his magic to work the car—not trusting himself to fully drive while high. “Come to my house if you need anything. My dad won't be home till after I leave for school in the morning.”

 

Rayna hesitates for a few seconds before nodding. It looks like she really wants to say something, but is holding herself back from doing so. Stiles opens his mouth to ask, but his question meets nothingness as Rayna disappears into the rainy night.

 

It takes Stiles probably another twenty minutes before he’s able to safely animate his car, ordering it to drive him to the house. He barely remembers getting there. All he knows is he trips over empty cans of beer in the kitchen, and vaguely thinks: “when did dad start drinking again?”

 

Falling into bed Stiles stares up at his ceiling sullenly. Already the weed was waring, and he knew it was a matter of time before the feeling of confined numbness took over again. Looking towards his bathroom, Stiles thinks about the razor and his medication. He thinks about swallowing two weeks worth of antidepressants and watching his blood color his white floor.

 

Rolling out of bed, he stands halfway between his bed and the bathroom door contemplating. Taking a step closer to to the bathroom, he feels a tear roll down his cheek. Catching a glimpse of himself in the door length mirror on his wall, Stiles sees his big eyes that he inherited from his mother. Crumpling to the floor, Stiles shakes in the silence of the house as no one comes to comfort him. He cries harder as he thinks that maybe if his mother were her, she’d come to his rescue. She’d wrap him in her arms and comfort him like a mother should with reassurance and warm hugs. It would be just enough to stop the tears and maybe the nightmares that would follow. As he lays there, he thinks about how selfish he’s being. His mom died for him. It would be terrible if she wasted her life just for him to kill himself.

 

Lying motionless on the ground, Stiles wheezes his way back to calm as he crawls back to bed.

 

« « « » » »

 

Stiles wakes suddenly, every thought in high definition. His eyes take in every ray of light, and without a doubt, he knew he slept too long. The noises are of a day in full swing, traffic heavy. He’s dressed and fed in a fraction of the time it usually takes and leaves without thought of pulling a hat over his bedraggled hair. As he’s speeding down the street, he takes notice in the empty shake cups and fries container. Shaking his head at the thought of last night, Stiles puts on a brave face as he opens the windows to dispel the stench of weed.

 

Pulling into the parking lot, Stiles parks and trudges his way to his locker. Shoving his needed books into his bag, Stiles makes room for his laptop as he slides his finished letter from yesterday in with his sketchbook. He has an appointment after school today and plans on giving it to here. Despite how unstable the letter paints him out to be, he guesses its better than lying and wasting money.

 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles walks to his first hour and enter the class giving the teacher a half-assed excuse for being late. For some strange reason, she didn’t seem to mind as Mrs. Delworth gives him a sympathetic smile. Frowning confused, Stiles slumps back into his seat as the class starts discussing the poem Out Out—, by Robert Frost. About midway through class, the principal calls his name on there overhead.

 

_“Stiles Stilinski to the main office.”_

 

The class falls silent as Stiles hesitantly stands from his seat. Sliding his bag back on, he heads towards the doors as people whisper around him. Making his way to the office, Stiles check his phone to see that he has a voicemail from an unknown number. Deciding to listen to it later, Stiles sighs as he pushes the office doors open. He’s directed inside and swiftly ushered to Principal Argent’s office.

 

In the room sat Mr. and Mrs. Hale and three of their four children. Frowning even more confused, Stiles stands awkwardly in the doorway as Talia Hale cries helplessly in her seat.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, please take a seat,” Principal Argent says with a somber smile.

 

Not wanting to make things awkward Stiles quickly took the seat across from the family. His eyes glance towards Mr. Hale and his stiff and sober expression before looking towards Laura, Derek, and Cora. All three of them seems to be grieving something as they either fought back the tears or let them fall one by one.

 

They all look exhausted.

 

“What’s—why am I here?” Stiles asks nervously.

 

“How about I step out to give you guys some space?” Mrs. Argent says as she stands and exits the room. “Call me in when you’re ready.”

 

Stiles sits petrified as sadness, anger, and guilt feed his fox. The aura of the room leaves him antsy and very much on edge. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he could feel all five of their eyes judging him.

 

Eric Hale clears his throat, “Why don’t you go ahead, honey, and—”

 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” she snaps, her eyes closed as she gathers herself.

 

“That’s not what I said, is it?”

 

Talia’s voice is unsteady as she finally speaks to him, “We didn’t know that you two were friends.”

 

“Friends?” Stiles says, now completely confused.

 

“We didn’t think Rayna had _any_ friends. And then we hear that she went with you after her episode yesterday. Derek says her scent changed to something close to at ease when she got in the car with you. We haven’t felt or even seen that emotion on her in years. That seems to suggest pretty clearly that you and Rayna were, or at least for Rayna, she thought of you as…” Eric looks away, anger visibly coiling at the surface.

 

“We know it’s personal, but we were wondering if you could tell us about her last moments, Her last words,” Talia pleads watery.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles is winded at this point, “What do you mean, last words?”

 

Talia and Eric share a look.

 

The six of them sit in a frightening silence.

 

Eric breathes, “Rayna, uh, Rayna took her own life.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widen as his ears process the information, “she…what?”

 

“We found her last night…she, she—” Laura Hale tries but fails as angry tears rush down her face.

 

Stiles can’t feel anything. It's like darkness. A pitch blackness. A never-ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing. Empty. Nothing to subside your hollow soul that creeps in the shadows, away from any other life because it's emptiness is so consuming it can bear to pretend that everything is okay. Nothing is okay! People walk around this earth each day and pretend that everything is okay, and it always will be. Why can't we all just admit that we are just hollow plastic dolls with a painted happy face revealing no guilt, sadness, emptiness - emotion.

 

He isn’t even aware of his own panic attack until he’s stumbling out of the chair and swinging his bag over his shoulder to flea. In his rushed movements, he fails to realize his zipper being opened. The contents of his bag come tumbling onto the ground. Talia hurries to help him, her fingers hovering over the envelope with his therapy letter in it. The front is addressed to himself and it no doubt smells like himself and Rayna.

 

Without hesitation, Talia opens the sealed envelope and begins to read.

 

_Dear Stiles Stilinski,_

_I kept imagining the same thing over again, a paradise being taken apart at its will. The organization of an entire kingdom being ripped apart piece by piece. What is this place you ask? This place, it’s my mind._

 

_It’s my entire conscience being torn out of place, and being tortured until it bleeds out and gives up. Only here, I can’t give up; I’m not sure if I’m alive or dead, and I feel like I’ve been here for years. It’s probably been a few weeks since I’ve seen any natural light and I’m starting to actually want to go outside. Let’s just say that’s something that doesn’t happen often. I can’t imagine what would happen if someone were to shine a light in my eyes. Maybe it would be the only push I need. But this is purgatory. There is nothing here except me- the victim. And my brain- the murderer. The torturer. The sinner. Death. That’s all this is. That’s all I need._

 

_I feel like there is a hole in my chest holding me back from achieving my true goal- to not be alone. I wish they understood. I wish they knew. I wish everything were different. I wish that I was a part of…something. I wish that anything I said…mattered to anyone. I mean face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?_

 

_Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,_

_Me._

 

“She…Eric, look,” Talia gasps out. Realization seems to dawn on her actions as she freezes. “You…you must not have known she gave this to you. It was unopened and in your bag, and I took this away from you. I’m so very sorry.”

 

Realizing what this must look like and what they all think it means, Stiles trembles in an anxious fit, stuck and a bit lost in the progression of the series of events.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know she was a favorite, but like....I'm sorry? ( 　ﾟ,_ゝﾟ)


	3. If I Could...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What…umm, what are you guys doing here? I thought I saw you leaving before I did,” Stiles cautiously removes himself from even being near the edge. Seeming to realize how that sounds, he flushes even darker if possible, “Not that I was watching you guys! I mean, I just happened to see you guys while I was sitting in my car. Which is actually weird to admit that I was just sitting in my car, in the parking lot, outside a funeral home. I was just—”
> 
> “How come she never talked about you?” Cora says, putting his rambling to rest. Her cheeks were puffy as she balls her hands at her sides. “Not once. She never brought you up to any of us, and now suddenly she addresses a suicide, not to you?”
> 
> Her comment came from seemingly nowhere, so far from what he would imagine either of them asking, he just stares at her open-mouthed. His brain formulating no thoughts other than to register that he is shocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to [If I Could Tell Her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7h7c_L_Yp4m)

Staring down the sixty-foot drop, Stiles holds the edge in a vice grip. The breeze cuts through his suit as he thinks of Rayna’s lifeless body at the bottom of the bridge. Feeling confused tears cascade down his face, Stiles morbidly wonders if she’s happy now. Using his sleeve to wipe at his damp face, Stiles trembles as he thinks about the three-minute long voicemail.

 

It’s been two weeks since Rayna’s death, and the guilt from that night still haunts him. His thoughts are plagued with what could have been and what he could have done differently that night. He should have gone with her, or at least put up more of a fight for her to stay in the car. Maybe then she’d be here with him now? She would be here, and he wouldn’t have had to give a speech at her funeral. Stiles wouldn’t have had to stare into fake tears or listen as countless of Hale family members and family friends wailed as they pretended to have known her. The both of them could be at Stiles’ house getting stoned in his basement, as they argue about Kansas and Utah. They could pretend to be happy. Stiles could pretend that he isn’t alone. Now he can’t even do that.

 

All he has left of his kinda-friend is the voicemail.

 

The three minute and thirty-second long voicemail.

 

A voicemail that he’s too scared to listen to. The last piece of Rayna and he can only manage to play thirty seconds of her talking before turning his phone off.

 

Along with his feelings of fear and guilt, Stiles feels nothing but agony whenever he happens to be in the same room as any of the Hales. He dodges almost every encounter with Talia Hale, who no doubt wants him as a sort of extension— _or perhaps a replacement_ —for Rayna. Laura talks to him in the halls at school, and if that isn’t strange enough, she even took liberty in walking with him to their shared chemistry class. Cora and Derek acknowledge his presence and also stand up for him every now and again, which is honestly the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him. The only Hale that hasn’t reached out to him is Eric Hale, and Stiles is not-so-surprisingly okay with that.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Snapping out of his thoughts, Stiles turns to face Derek who still manages to look growly with bloodshot eyes and tear streaks down his cheeks. A few feet behind him stood Laura and Cora, whole both wore almost identical black dresses. The three of them look uncomfortable, and it takes Stiles a bit to figure out why. Stumbling away from the edge, Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets

 

“I…” Stiles clears his gravelly throat. “I wanted to see where she— where it happened. I can leave if you guys want to be here. I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”

 

“No, you’re fine,” Derek rushes out.

 

Stiles can’t find his voice. He feels his cheeks flush hot, and his stomach is heavy. His heart pounds in his throat, threatening to break out. Derek’s eyes wander around the bridge. Stiles’ stay locked on Derek. How many love songs have Stiles heard that say, _‘He takes my breath away’_? Now that line made a lot of sense. Stiles’ body numbs as Derek approaches, and he became painfully conscious of the snot dripping from his nose. Rubbing his arm underneath his nose Stiles averts his gaze to the ground.

 

“What…umm, what are you guys doing here? I thought I saw you leaving before I did,” Stiles cautiously removes himself from even being near the edge. Seeming to realize how that sounds, he flushes even darker if possible, “Not that I was watching you guys! I mean, I just happened to see you guys while I was sitting in my car. Which is actually weird to admit that I was just sitting in my car, in the parking lot, outside a funeral home. I was just—”

 

“How come she never talked about you?” Cora says, putting his rambling to rest. Her cheeks were puffy as she balls her hands at her sides. “Not once. She never brought you up to any of us, and now suddenly she addresses a suicide, not to you?”

 

Her comment came from seemingly nowhere, so far from what he would imagine either of them asking, he just stares at her open-mouthed. His brain formulating no thoughts other than to register that he is shocked.

 

Laura blushes darkly, “I’m sorry, she didn’t mean to say—”

 

A dark rumbling rips from Cora’s chest as she glares at her sister, “—I did actually! We’ve been watching over him for the past week because he _apparently_ mattered to Rayna, and we don’t even know him for fuck's sake! How in the hell is that fair? Why should I—”

 

“—Have you ever thought that maybe she never told you because you didn’t deserve to know?!” Stiles' shoulders shake as he glares at all of them. His anger changes to regret as Cora attempts to hide a new wave of tears.

 

Around them, the bridge fell silent aside from the occasional chirping from the trees.

 

The guilt is like gasoline in his guts. Stiles’ insides die slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burns him out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person. Feeling as if he’d vomit lava, Stiles shocks everyone when he speaks.

 

“But she wanted to!” Stiles’ eyes go wide. His heart pounding in his chest, and he luckily remembers to silence his heart if he were to continue lying to three alpha werewolves. “I mean, she wanted to believe, or to think, that you deserved to know. She wanted you guys to know a lot of things actually. Like…like she thought you were, awesome…all of you.”

 

“She thought we were awesome? Our sister?” Derek says in disbelief.

 

“Definitely!” Stiles says.

 

Shaking her head in disbelief Cora wipes at her face, “h-how?”

 

Stiles felt painfully out of place, like a suicidal person that has mistakenly made their way into a church. “Well, she said,” he turns to Derek, “there’s nothing like your smile. Sort of subtle and perfect and real, and that it was so great because you never knew how wonderful that smile could make someone feel.”

 

Derek stares as if Stiles produced a rhinoceros from his pocket. Stiles could just imagine the sparks in his brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and instead just causing a short circuit.

 

Turning to Cora he clears his throat again, “And she knew whenever you get bored you scribble stars on the cuffs of your jeans.” Stiles chuckles breathlessly as he moves onto Laura, “And she noticed that you still fill out the quizzes that they put in those teen magazines. But she kept it all inside her head, what she saw she left unsaid. And though she wanted to, she couldn't talk to you. She couldn't find the way, but she would always say…If she could tell you everything she saw, or how you guys are everything to her. She didn't…she couldn’t because she thought you were a million worlds apart, and she didn’t know how to even start.”

 

Silence clung to them like a poisonous cloud that at any moment could choke the life from them.

 

“Did…did she say anything else?” Cora asks.

 

Stiles eyes widen at the timidness in her voice, “a-about you?”

 

Vulnerability and panic clouds Cora’s features, “Never mind, I don't really care anyways!”

 

Stiles stumbles forwards with his hands raised, hoping that they wouldn’t leave, “No, no, no just, no, no she said, she said so many things. I’m just, I'm trying to remember the best ones so, um…she thought you looked really pretty, er—um, it looked pretty cool when you put indigo streaks in your hair.”

 

“She did?” Cora’s tears evaporate into a weak smile.

 

Nodding, Stiles turns to face the other two who seem just as light-hearted as their second youngest. Smoothing his hand down the front of his jacket, Stiles turns to face the bridge, “but what could she have done when there was this great divide?”

“She just seemed so far away,” Derek says astound. Big green eyes staring at Stiles as if he just handed over a piece of the sun.

 

Pulling at her hair Laura sniffles, “it’s like I don’t know anything.”

 

Stiles stares at them. His insides burn, but it seems bearable now that they were smiling at him. They…their smiles were real and directed to him of all people. Perhaps he isn’t so useless after all. He ponders the notion of being these people’s support. He could do that. Keeps tabs and assure, tell them what they need to take the guilt and pain away. As much as their dad deserved to be in agony, Stiles had a feeling that the rest of them didn’t necessarily need to suffer. It wouldn’t be much of a life, but he’d do a good job, better than the life he’s living now. Despite his reasoning, he could still hear Rayna’s voice in his head: _“They couldn’t give less of a damn about me, and I hate them!”_

 

He hesitates but opens his mouth anyway, “and she…she struggled to find a way to tell you guys that…that she— she loved you.”

 

Surprisingly, the silence that follows isn’t painful or stiff. It’s filled with awkward smiles and a variation of distant looks that pass over Laura, Derek, and Cora’s faces. Stiles begins to think he overstepped his bounds and starts to shuffle away but stops when Cora reaches out.

 

“You should have dinner with us!” Cora says. “Our mom stopped being vegan, so she’s making lasagna tonight. It’ll be great, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have you.”

 

“Don’t make him feel obligated to—” Derek starts.

 

“—I’d love to!” Stiles says maybe a bit too loudly.

 

Stiles feels like every fiber of his being is vibrating with anticipation. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins. His hands tremble, and his eyes were wide. _‘This is what Scott must’ve felt like when Jackson and his friends first spoke to him,_ ' he thought. Derek offers to give him a ride—given that Stiles walked to the service and then to the bridge, and Stiles gladly accepts. 

 

« « « » » »

 

It’s weird for Stiles to be having dinner with his dead sorta-friend’s family, who so happens to be the same family that belongs to his crush. All of it left his stomach in knots as he tries not to get sauce all over his clothing.

 

“How do you like the lasagna, Stiles,” Talia asks across from him.

 

Fumbling with his fork, Stiles lowers the fork from his mouth to look at her, “It’s fantastic Mrs. Hale.”

 

Mrs. Hale’s smile is blinding as she places another roll on his plate. Stiles smiles in thanks as he cautiously reaches for his glass. To his right sat Cora who looks more interested in her phone than she was about dinner. Glancing at her screen, he has to hide his smile behind a cough as he sees her googling hair dye reviews. Derek glances at him from across the table, and Stiles could feel his own face burning. In his current state of fluster Stiles catches a glimpse of Mr. Hale staring at him with a look of stone. Quickly Stiles focuses his attention back on his plate. 

 

Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket Stiles jumps causing the fork to slip from his grip. Quickly apologizing for the commotion, Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket.

 

 **From Scott** : People said you were at the funeral today!? I didn’t know you were friends with the Hales!!!!

 

 **From Scott** : Did you get to meet Eric and Talia?! Are they as cool in person??

 

Squinting at the messages, he quickly shut his phone off. Shoving his phone back into his pocket Stiles hid the slight twinge of anger behind a neutral façade. It was like Scott didn’t even care that it was Rayna’s funeral that he was talking about. As he thought about it more, he realizes that everything he’s experiencing now, the family dinner and warm smiles, it all seems too fake to be entirely enjoyable.

 

Not once have they brought up Rayna. Today was her _funeral_. They buried her and Stiles is sitting at the family table complimenting Talia’s lasagna for fuck's sake. Standing from the table, he stutters out an excuse and an apology before running out the door. His feet pound against the tarmac with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete, the easy springing steps of twenty miles earlier has long since disappeared. His rasping throat was as parched as a dead lizard in the desert sun. His head bobs loosely from side to side with each footfall, and his eyes felt heavy in their sockets.When he arrives at his doorstep, he’s only aware that his father is home when he nearly barrels into him on his way up the stairs.

 

John Stilinski’s hands grip the bottle in his hands, his eyes swiveling towards the back of his head in a distressed sense of a headache. The sheriff tilts his head towards the side as he takes a long swig of the dark substance that affects him. “Where the hell have you been?”

 

Wiping the sweat and tears from his face, Stiles stumbles away from him, “I was…I went to Rayna Hale’s funeral and then had dinner with her family.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” his father looks at him with a sneer as he leans closer to him. “If you wanna lie, fine. But don’t come out of your room until you’re ready to tell the truth.”

 

“But—”

 

“Go!” John yells throwing his bottle at Stiles, which stops midair before falling to the ground.

 

Feeling his heart pound in his throat, Stiles pushes past his dad and up the stairs. Getting to his room he slams the door shut, collapsing to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so you guys have been fricken awesome with all your comments, and I'm legit shaking with happiness for the first time in a really long time. I want to tell you how grateful I am for all the compliments and the insightful comments about the story! I don't know how I could repay/thank-properly, but I know some writers do the whole Tumblr thing to keep in contact and all that stuff. 
> 
> I don't have a Tumblr now, but if you guys like the idea I'll create one with the username ( beingmoremichael ). The Tumblr account will be mainly for like story updates, but I'll probably do other things like writing prompts, some mental health blog of sorts, and just talking with you guys. 
> 
> Let me know if you'd be interested in that! If not, ignore me and keep reading as is (─‿‿─)


	4. Big Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles did you—”
> 
> Turning just in time to see Cora drop her chosen clothing to the ground Stiles tenses as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror. “I think…I wanna get this as well.”
> 
> “It…” Cora blinks dazed. “It looks good on you.”
> 
> A heavy silence settles over them, thicker than the nervous tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glance unceremoniously around as they try to avoid catching the other’s glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Read with consideration of the tags!!!! [My Tumblr](https://bemoremichael.tumblr.com)

The next few days are filled with Stiles…trying. He tries to keep a family together while his remains in shambles. Even though he doesn’t honestly know what happiness is, he manages to provide at least a little to the Hales. He smiles, lies, and pretends his way into their lives until his own truth doesn’t feel real anymore. The panic attacks, dark thoughts, and nightmares still happen—more often than they were before. However, in light of his new life, he only gives time to dwell on them in the dead of night.

 

He’s stopped taking his meds because he believes that throughout all the lies he somehow has gotten better. He’s not always alone, and he finds that when he’s with Laura, Cora, Derek, or even Mrs. Hale, he finds himself wanting to be a part of this world.

 

His visits with his therapist are shorter and not as frequent.

 

Stiles is content.

 

He can’t say that he’s _happy_ , but he feels himself maybe getting there.

 

**2 Months Later**

 

“Get back here you fucking coward!” Cora bellows from down the hallway. Her fists clench as she stalks towards Stiles’ retreating figure. “I’ve given you rides. I let you use my nail polish, and gave you the last of _my_ Doritos. You _owe_ me!”

 

Stiles knew it was a bad idea to let the Hales befriend him. He felt it in his bones when he had made the conscious decision, and he wishes more than anything that he had listened to that voice. Cutting the corner, Stiles weaves through the sea of the student body as he flees from a determined Cora Hale. Panicking as he sees Mr. Harris exit his classroom, Stiles turns yet another corner and finds himself in front of the boy's locker room. Freezing in place, Stiles scrunches his nose at the heady scent of body odor and hormones. He makes a move to find a new hiding spot but settles with the inevitable as he hears Cora’s rapid heart and footsteps heading towards him. Stumbling into the room, he comes face to chest with none other than Derek.

 

“Stiles what’s wro—”

 

“Your demon sister is after me,” he rushes in one breath, “if there is an ounce of goodness in you you’ll hide me from her wrath.”

 

Derek’s face contorts into one of confusion before his features smooth out into a sly smile, “I’m taking it she invited you to the party tonight.”

 

Stiles jaw drops and nearly hits the ground as he gasps offended and feeling a bit betrayed, “you _knew_?”

 

 

Instead of answering, Derek spun Stiles around and hearts him out the door. Feeling himself freeze up under Derek’s touch, Stiles can’t bring himself to fight off the embrace. It’s only when he’s out of the locker room and a few inches away from a panting Cora does he realize what Derek has done.

 

Cora narrows her eyes at him and pokes his chest, “you’ve got some nerve, Stilinski. You’re coming with me to this party whether you want to or not. Even if you only stay for ten minutes, you’re coming.”

 

Still a bit brain-dead from Derek’s hands still resting on his shoulders, Stiles just squints at the feisty brunette.

 

“They’re making me go as well,” Derek says, practically whispering in Stiles’ ear.

 

Stiles feels his breath leave him and has to pull away from Derek to think straight. Feeling his chest heave, Stiles holds his breath until he’s dizzy before exhaling. Looking between Derek and Cora, Stiles feels his resolve crumbling at their eager faces. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Stiles gave a pitiful nod and only has a few seconds to brace himself before Cora is attacking him with a hug. Hesitantly wrapping his arms around her, Stiles watches over her shoulder as a group of people comes to talk to Derek. Seeing how he smiles and touches almost all of his friends, Stiles feels a twinge of jealousy burn his stomach.

 

“We have to pick out clothes together!” Cora hauls him back towards the main entrance of the school. “I thought we could give you some color, maybe a new shirt?”

 

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” Stiles questions looking down at the black Fortnite sweatshirt that was a bit too big for him. “It’s cool.”

 

“It sure is, sweetie,” Cora says with a bright smile, “but you know what would be even cooler?”

 

  
“Not peer-pressuring your friends,” Stiles mumbles as they get to the Range Rover.

 

Cora glares at him as she unlocks the door. It then all makes sense to Stiles why she brought her own car today instead of driving with Laura and Derek. They were all in on her torture act from the beginning. “No. I was going to say, some blue or maybe even some red to pop with those eyes of yours. They’ve been goldish-amber for the past week, and I envy you.”

 

Stiles didn’t say that his eyes only get that color when he’s sleep deprived. He doesn’t tell her he;’s sleep deprived because he keeps dreaming about Rayna and his mom. Instead, he rolls his eyes as he shuts the door.

 

The shopping mall has architecture the schools and hospitals can only dream of. The ceiling is domed higher than any cathedral and made of the most beautiful glass. The walkways flow like tributaries to the main rivers of people, not a sharp angle to be seen. It smells like heaven in a hand-basket, and the floor shines like the surface of a lake at sunrise. In the background is music to soothe, gentle flowing notes to take the shopper's cares far away. In a world so chaotic it is in order. In a world of pollution and desecration, it is clean perfection in bubble-wrap.

 

Stiles hates how plastic it makes him feel.

 

Cora drags him into an H&M, and he sits on a bench as he lets her shop for him. She’s more than happy to comply, and Stiles only begins to regret his decision when just five minutes in she already has two arm-fulls of clothing for him. Paling at the idea of trying all of them on, Stiles startles as his phone signals a notification.

 

**From Scott** : Dude we haven’t talked in weeks! Where have you been? I didn’t see after class

 

**To Scott** : Oh sorry I was trying to avoid Cora

 

**From Scott** : Avoid???

 

**From Scott** : Why would you want to avoid her? Don’t you like have a crush on her or something?

 

**To Scott** : Not really the gender I’m into.

 

**From Scott** : Oh shit! Sorry I forgot

 

Scoffing, Stiles presses his power button and looks up when Cora drops the pile of clothes in his lap. Staring at all of the graphic-t’s and obnoxious bright colored tops, Stiles makes a face. Ignoring him, Cora forces him into a changing room as she goes back to shop for herself now. Standing in front of the mirror, Stiles’ avoids his own gaze as he sifts through the shirts. He tries on a few of them and actually finds himself liking them. Cora gave him a lot of tops that show off a sliver of his midriff that looks awesome despite the obnoxious colors they were.

 

In the end, he ends up buying six of the twenty tops Cora got him. He even decides to were the gray and red long sleeve to the party tonight.

 

Stepping out of the changing room his eyes land on a yellow jacket that causes his breathing to catch. Walking towards the coat that is practically identical to the one that Rayna wore, Stiles grabs it off the rack with shaky hands as he slips in on. Similarly to the way Rayan wore hers, the jacket fell loose around his shoulders as the cuffs of the sleeves touch the middle of his palms.

 

“Stiles did you—”

 

Turning just in time to see Cora drop her chosen clothing to the ground Stiles tenses as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror. “I think…I wanna get this as well.”

 

“It…” Cora blinks dazed. “It looks good on you.”

 

A heavy silence settles over them, thicker than the nervous tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glance unceremoniously around as they try to avoid catching the other’s glance.

 

“So…should we check out now?” Stiles asks.

 

Snapping out of her thoughts, Cora smiles brightly and scoops up her clothes nodding for Stiles to follow her. 

 

« « « » » »

 

When they got to the party, it was late, and Stiles was sure if Lydia Martin were a typical teenager, her parents would go crazy due to the current state of their home. The music was so loud that it made Stiles’ skin tingle and his lungs feel like mush. The bass thumps in time with his heartbeat as though they were one, filling him from head to toe with music. He likes this song. Over the roar of music, a distant, hazy chatter could be heard. He couldn’t make out any words, but laughter rang in his ears and wouldn’t seem to stop. The song that was playing got louder, pulling him in and wouldn’t let go. Stiles had no choice but to join the crowd, jumping in a huddled group like Tic-Tacs being shaken in a box.

 

“Stilinski, you’re lookin’ good,” Danny Mahealani says while passing.

 

Stumbling back in shock, Stiles blinks around to make sure the comment is actually directed towards him. Feeling himself blush, Stiles pulls himself away from the crowd to get a drink. Since they arrived, Stiles hasn’t seen any of the Hales despite his constant searching for them. Grabbing a cup and dipping it into the punchbowl, Stiles takes a long gulp before scooping up even more. He chugs it and then reaches for even more, but stops when someone approaches him.

 

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Jackson says tauntingly. His posey circles around him and Stiles has to remind himself to keep his breathing in check. “You know, just because the Hales seem to pity you it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to give a shit about you.”

 

Stiles sneers at the drunk jock and refrains from doing anything stupid. He tries to step around them, but Jackson nudges him back into the table. Clenching his jaw, Stiles glares as the werewolf moves even further into his personal space.

 

“Awww, look at him fellas,” Jackson coos, “I’ve done upset him. What’s the little fox gonna do? You want me to pity you too?”

 

“They don’t pity me,” Stiles hisses, his anger boiling at an alarming rate. He was doing so good. Of course, he was, and now all of it is going to be ruined because of Whittemore.

 

“If you believe that, you’re more delusional than I thought,” Jackson says, causing his little circle to erupt in snide chuckling. “Why don’t you just do us all a favor and follow in your friend Rayna’s footsteps.”

 

Stiles momentarily blacks out as a rush of energy explodes from his core. He only realizes that he’s done something wrong when the music stops. Noticing the body sized imprint on the wall directly behind Jackson, Stiles panics and bolts away from the scene. The silence lingers, and Stiles forces himself to focus as he manipulates the speakers to make the music start again.

 

Barging into the bathroom, Stiles’ breathing comes in to quickly as he grips onto the counter. Shaking as his eyes focus on the mirror, he nearly falls to the ground as he sees Rayna where his own reflection should be.

 

His thoughts are accelerating inside his head. Stiles wants them to slow so he can breathe but they won't. His breaths come in gasps, and he feels like he will black out again. Stiles' heart is hammering inside his chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin. The room spins, and he squats on the floor, trying to make everything slow to something his brain and body can cope with. Stiles feels so sick. He wants to call an ambulance, but the phone is too far away, it's too far away, it's too far away. He doesn’t know who to call, what's their number, who to call, too far away, she's gone, she died, breathe, gone, what number, too far away... blackness... creeping blackness... he’s on the floor in a ball- the fetal position. Where is he, what's his name, who to call, what's the number, the stairs are too steep, the room is spinning...blackness...she's gone…

 

Suddenly, the door opens and slams shut.

 

Feeling his chest constrict, Stiles shrieks petrified when warm hands touch his forearms. Thrashing away from the embrace, Stiles cowers further into a corner just as the person becomes less of a blur of limbs. Derek stands a few feet away from him with his hands held up and a wounded expression on his face. Stiles doesn’t dare to get closer, and thankfully, neither does Derek. Looking towards the closed door and then to his still shaking hands, Stiles lets out a wrecked sob as Derek hesitantly sits a few spaces away from him.

 

Looking away from him, Stiles holds a hand over his mouth—the other rigidly clutching the yellow jacket around his frame. His eyelids shut so tightly they began to fidget and shudder from the bullish force. As if the very corner of his eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past red cheeks and over his knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the teenager’s hushed agony.

 

Finally, if not hesitantly, Derek moves closer until he’s in a casual touching distance. “I don’t…I don’t know how to do this. She never- _I_ never helped her when she got a panic attack. That’s what this is right?”

 

Stiles stares at Derek confused as to why he was still sitting with him. Shouldn’t he be out there telling the rest of the party how much of a loser Stiles is, or discussing with his sisters on why they shouldn’t hang out with him anymore? He opens his mouth, but nothing but air escapes.

 

“Can…can I…” Derek holds his hand out only inches away from Stiles’ knee.

 

Shaking his head Stiles shudders as he pulls further away. Derek looks dejected, and Stiles finds himself needing to explain. “I—t-touching is a bad thing for me…for some when coming down. It’s…it’s not you, I just- it makes me feel trapped…” his voice is shaky and hoarse.

 

Derek nods slowly as he drops his hand back to his lap.

 

Stiles expects him to leave. He prepares himself to watch Derek run out of the door and never come back. So to say Stiles is surprised when Derek stays until his panic subsides is an understatement of the century.

 

“Why would you….why?” Stiles asks.

 

“You gave me my sister back,” Derek moves closer again, this time, less hesitant. “I care about you.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t know what part of his brain greenlit the idea, but after he did it, it isn’t like he could take it back. Feeling Derek’s lips stay unresponsive against his own, Stiles feels himself begin to pull away, but is sucked back in with strong hands and desperate kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://bemoremichael.tumblr.com)
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> I'll be doing writing prompts I ship Sterek (Teen Wolf), Connor/Evan (DEH), Klance (Voltron), Bellarke (The 100), Choni (Riverdale), Bughead (Riverdale), Lams (Hamilton), Michael/Jeremy (Be More Chill) 
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**Author's Note:**

> Side note: I plan on making this a long ass fic because with the way my writer's block (for my novel) and depression is set up I think it would be beneficial if I projected some of my thoughts onto fictional characters. If you want more of this story sooner rather than later, please leave a comment. It fuels my ego and kicks my depression's ass.


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